"I am sick of them. Standing for a certain borough, and being pelted with eggs and apples, gave me a surfeit." "Pleasure?" "It is too hard work for me." "Money?" "I have got it, and therefore do not care for it." "Horses?" "Over years ago." "Years ago!" I thought, "and you have not come into the Wyndham property more than a year, cousin. Travelling?" I suggested aloud. "Over too. Do you confess yourself mistaken, and acknowledge that I am tired of the world?" "No, Sir!" "No!" "No; you read the newspaper." My cousin opened his fine blue eyes, and looked amused, and seemed to expect more; but I looked at my drawings, and remained mute; he raised his head from the back of the high arm-chair on which it was cushioned. I took no notice of this; he coughed; I never looked up. He took his paper, laid it down, took it up again, and at length feeling either piqued or inquisitive, rose and came round to the back of my chair. I allowed him to stand there, and look over my shoulder, as long as he pleased. "I wonder where Bertha got these!" he said at length in a tone of surprise. "They are mine," I replied quietly, "Mr. O'Reilly gave them to me." "Are they by him?" I assented with some pride. My cousin looked astonished, and pronounced the sketches masterly. He sat down by my side, and looked over the contents of the portfolio; his remarks showed me that he was an excellent judge. We looked slowly; and had not done, when Mrs. Brand and Mrs. Langton returned from their laborious duties. "Have you seen these, Bertha?" said Edward Thornton to his sister. "Yes, lovely things," she replied, carelessly. "Have you?" he asked of Edith, who sat apart, gathered up in her own loveliness, like a self-admiring rose. She answered in the negative, and taking up the portfolio, he seemed inclined to show them to her; but his sister playfully interfered, told him that as he had already seen them, it was not fair; that she was passionately fond of drawings, and would look over these with her dear Edith by whom she accordingly sat most pertinaciously until dinner-time. Her brother remained by me, and talked of Cornelius, whom he emphatically pronounced a man of genius. My ear opened to hear him speak so. "He is more than a man of genius," I replied with some emotion; "he is so good. At least he has always been so to me; he adopted and reared me quite as if I had been his own child, and that was very kind." Mr. Thornton smiled, and spoke of good deeds that brought their own reward. I hinted that if I was a reward, it seemed hard he should be deprived of me. He evidently thought this hard, too; and though he did not say so, I saw he intended influencing Mr. Thornton in my favour. A fact on which I did not place much hope, for I knew enough of my grandfather to guess he was not easily governed.